


a sitting down in the shower day

by Nemainofthewater



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Depression, Don't copy to another site, Extra Treat, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Trick or Treat 2020, not season 5 compliant, sad quentin hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:40:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nemainofthewater/pseuds/Nemainofthewater
Summary: Quentin didn’t die in the Mirror Realm. Not really. Yeah, sure, if you want to get pedantic about it, he was technically dead for 37 seconds, but Alice and Penny retrieved and revived him quickly enough that there shouldn’t have been any detrimental effects.So why does it feel like he’s come back wrong.Canon divergence from the end of season 4.
Relationships: Quentin Coldwater & Eliot Waugh, Quentin Coldwater/Eliot Waugh
Comments: 10
Kudos: 55
Collections: Trick or Treat Exchange 2020





	a sitting down in the shower day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hearthouses](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearthouses/gifts).



> Written as an extra treat for Trick or Treat 2020. 
> 
> Title from 'Shower Day' by the Amazing Devil

Quentin fiddles with the elastic band around his wrist, absently snapping it against his skin, and wonders how he got here. Not here in the whole, er, metaphysical sense- he’s pretty content to leave that sort of question to Alice and Julia thanks- and not in the, ‘how did we physically get here hur hur’ sense either that people like to bust out as an awkward kind of dad joke.

A warm hand settles gently on his wrist, stilling the movement of his hand.

“Hey,” Eliot whispers, giving as much an illusion of privacy as possible considering that the nine of them are all gathered in Marina’s apartment and currently debating the fate of the world (with catering provided by Josh). “You alright?”

“Fine,” Quentin replies, inwardly wincing at how monotonous his voice is. Because…well, he is fine, isn’t he? They’ve banished the Monster and his sister, they’ve got Eliot back, they’ve (and by they, mostly Kady and Alice) taken down the Library and ensured the free flow of magic once again. Hell, they’ve even officially graduated from Brakebills despite not having finished their degrees, although that might just be Fogg wanting them out of his school and someone else’s problem.

He can’t even attribute his mood to it being the end of an era; not when all of them are trying to figure out whether or not to travel back in time to stop the Monster and his Sister from having ever been a problem.

Quentin sighs. He should be happier, right? They’ve won, everything is good again. And yet… all he can muster is a faint apathy.

Hell, Quentin of two years ago would have been on his feet, probably literally bouncing at the thought of actual time travel being real and fervently arguing against killing _anyone_ at birth, Monster or no.

Yeah, he’d been a naïve little shit two years ago. And he hadn’t spent months trying to talk a monstruous toddler down from accidentally killing his ~~boy~~ friend.

If they are friends.

The Monster has taken so much from him, but the one that gives Quentin the most grief, the one that’s left him sleepless and staring at his ceiling up 5am every night is…

…it should have been him. He had been ready to spend eternity with the Monster, he had been ready to sacrifice himself for the world. And then Eliot had followed him and stopped him from trapping himself with the Monster and in doing so had sealed his own fate. One way or another, if it hadn’t been for Quentin, then Eliot wouldn’t have been possessed for months.

_It should have been him._

Eliot frowns, the lines on his brow and around his eyes deepening. Part of Quentin wants to smooth them away, these physical reminders of what the Monster had left them. Smooth them away as he had done so many times in that alternate timeline, smooth away the lines of care and worry. His hand half lifts before he remembers himself and it falls back onto the table. He ducks his head, hiding behind his hair before remembering that he doesn’t have that anymore.

Why does it feel like he spends all of his time wrapped in cotton wool; not in the metaphorical ‘everyone being protective of him’ sense (although there are certainly elements of that which he thinks are ridiculous because he wasn’t the one possessed by a monstruous toddler for months, he hadn’t been banished from Fillory, gone through a speed run redemption arc from betrayer to liberator of magic). No, the cotton wool feels entirely literally. Something dull and insulating and kinda itchy that’s surrounding him every moment of every day.

And look. Quentin’s not an idiot, he knows that what he’s describing is pretty much textbook depression but knowing the name of his monster (hah) isn’t enough to banish it.

Maybe it isn’t that he came back wrong so much as he was always wrong. 

“Quentin. _Q.”_

Quentin gives a start and stares up at Eliot. And oh- the frown lines are deeper now. Much deeper. Quentin blinks up at. That’s- that’s not good. Probably.

Eliot curses and staggers to his feet, blindly grabbing at his cane with his left hand to steady him. His right hand… his right hand is still around Quentin’s wrist.

“El?” Margo asks, breaking off from where she’s furiously arguing with Kady and glancing over at the two of them. Quentin doesn’t know if he’s imagining the way that her eyes linger on Eliot’s hand wrapped around his wrist. “You alright?”

“Oh, always,” Eliot says, with a sweeping gesture toward the pinnacle of sartorial elegance that enrobed his body. No one knows that he had taken two hours to put his clothes on; no one but Quentin who had stayed by him and endured the snapped insults as Eliot tried to button his shirt with trembling fingers. No one but the two of them know that Eliot had relented after half an hour of fruitless work and that Quentin had slowly buttoned his shirt up for him, fingers gentle and lingering just that slightest bit too long as he smoothed down Eliot’s vest to get rid of the non-existent creases.

The warmth of Eliot’s skin through his shirt is the only thing that he’s properly felt all day.

Eliot’s hand is a burning brand around his wrist.

“Q?”

Eliot’s voice snaps through his fogged brain, the half-hazy thoughts clearing slightly.

“Have you heard a word that I said?” Eliot asks. His tone is light, airy. His eyes are anything but.

“Yes?” Quentin says, the end of his sentence tilting up despite himself.

“Well, that was convincing,” Penny snorts from the back of the room. Then- “ow!” as someone- and Quentin suspects Fen as she’s surprisingly vicious- jabs at his side.

“We’ll be right back,” Eliot says, speaking over Penny’s grumbles and gently pulling Quentin toward his bedroom door. Their bedroom door? The room is technically Quentin’s, but Eliot has been staying in it since becoming de-Monsterified. It made sense- even in Marina’s surprisingly lavish apartment there’s only so much space, and it’s not like Quentin was using the room that much anyway. Not when he split his time between being dragged on horrifying fieldtrips and spending sleepless nights researching something, anything, to get Eliot back.

“Sit,” Eliot orders, disdainfully dropping his cane to the floor and seating himself on the neatly made bed before pulling Quentin down next to him. Quentin could resist but he doesn’t see the point. He folds gracelessly, collapsing down beside Eliot, facedown into a pillow.

“Graceful as ever, Q,” Eliot snorts, but then, after only the slightest hesitation there are warm hands tentatively carding their way through his hair. Quentin, weak as he is, relaxes into the sensation and pushes down the pang in his heart. The last time Eliot did this for him it was years ago and in another lifetime.

Neither of them says anything; they just lie there with Eliot’s hands in his hair. And then a stutter and a still and Eliot whispers, “are we ok, Quentin?”

Quentin doesn’t say anything. His thoughts are still clouded and fogged and dulled. But he does reach out his hand and entwines his fingers in Eliot’s.

**Author's Note:**

> I am on Tumblr as [Nemainofthewater ](https://nemainofthewater.tumblr.com)


End file.
